Night Whispers

Night Whispers

3.7 22
by Leslie Kelly

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Thanks to her sexy radio talk show, Night Whispers, DJ Kelsey Logan has become infamous! Suddenly, men all over Baltimore are desperate to discover the true identity of Lady Love, the sultry siren who keeps them up all night. But the only man Kelsey is desperate to have is stuffy Mitch Wymore.

Mitch is having a hard time believing that his bratty


Thanks to her sexy radio talk show, Night Whispers, DJ Kelsey Logan has become infamous! Suddenly, men all over Baltimore are desperate to discover the true identity of Lady Love, the sultry siren who keeps them up all night. But the only man Kelsey is desperate to have is stuffy Mitch Wymore.

Mitch is having a hard time believing that his bratty childhood nemesis has grown into the temptress the whole city's lusting after. A woman he's lusting after. He might have been able to keep his libido under control if Kelsey hadn't made it clear that she wanted to seduce him.

But could Mitch make love to her knowing their desire might end up on the air?

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Mitch Wymore stared out his kitchen window and

shook his head. Rubbing a weary hand against his

unshaved jaw, he closed his eyes briefly. He’d just returned

from a six-month research stint in China—his luggage still

lay heaped on the floor in the foyer. He’d looked forward

to returning to his brownstone, to his own huge bed, some

real American junk food, and familiar surroundings. But

this place didn’t look familiar! From the moment the taxi

dropped him off in his driveway and he saw the little red

sports car parked in his spot, he’d wondered if he was at

the wrong house.

It wasn’t just the yard. The kitchen was changed. There

were frilly yellow curtains at the window, and copper pots

hung over the cooking island. The last time he’d seen them

they’d been gathering dust in a box in the basement. A

delicate-looking tea set perched on the sideboard. Pot

holders and matching towels hung from a new towel rack.

Fresh flowers burst out of a cut-crystal vase on the butcher-

block table.

“Someone’s also been messing with my kitchen.”

Mitch didn’t really expect Fred to respond. He’d been

speaking more to himself than to his tenant.

“Yeah, looks nice,doesn’t it?”

Mitch slowly turned on his heel and stared at him. He

didn’t know Fred that well, despite the fact that the man

had been renting the top-floor apartment in his home for

the past year. Fred was a young grad student—serious,

studious and quiet—the perfect tenant, and, frankly, that

was just how Mitch liked it. They’d never socialized, and

in the few encounters he’d had with Fred, he’d never seen

him crack a real smile. Now a huge grin creased his face.

“Is there anything else I should know about?”

Fred’s grin widened, and Mitch nearly groaned.

“Well, she painted the dining room, fixed the cracked

chair rail in the living room, and repapered the foyer.”

Mitch didn’t have to ask who “she” was. Of course, it

was Kelsey.

He glanced back out the window and rolled his eyes.

The quiet little courtyard he’d left six months ago had been

a nice blend of stone patio, a few rosebushes and a little

grass. Two stately old maples provided shade in the back

corner. Nice and easy. Low maintenance.

Now it looked like the pictures of those English gardens,

a mass of trees, shrubs and flowers. A stone path mean-

dered around clumps of evergreens and mums. Some

green, palmy thing hung right over the gate and he

dreaded having to circumnavigate it when taking out the

trash. A huge mound of wildflowers surrounded most of

the back patio. There was even a fountain splashing

merrily near the fence.

He hated it.

“I’m gonna strangle that kid.”

Tossing his keys onto the kitchen table, Mitch shrugged

off his jacket and loosened his tie. All he wanted to do was

strip away his stale clothes and take a forty-five-minute

shower. Instead, he was going to leap into a confrontation

with Kelsey Logan, the bane of his childhood!

“Kid?” Fred asked.

Mitch didn’t pay him any attention. “I can’t believe I

was stupid enough to let her move in here. She’s a menace,

always has been, always will be. And she has liked nothing

better than to irritate me since the day we met.”

Fred seemed surprised. “I don’t see her that way.”

“Believe me, you don’t know her.”

Mitch wished he’d told her mother no when she’d

called last spring to ask if Kelsey could rent one of the

apartments in the Baltimore brownstone he’d just reno-

vated. But of all the people in the world, Marge Logan

was one he couldn’t say no to. She’d done too much for

him. He shuddered to think where he might be now if it

hadn’t been for Marge and her husband Ralph—in jail,

dead…no telling. So he’d said yes, hoping the move would

be temporary and Kelsey would be long gone by the time

he got back from his trip.

“How long has it been since you’ve seen Kelsey?”

Fred asked.

“Not long enough,” he muttered. “Where is she?”

Fred pointed out the window toward the backyard.

Mitch wasn’t surprised.

“I’d better be on my guard. That monster dumped a

bucket of fertilizer—fresh fertilizer—on my head once, just

because her brother and I made the mistake of walking

through her vegetable garden.”

Fred laughed out loud until Mitch glared at him.

“I can’t begin to tell you the number of acts of terror

she’s inflicted.” Mitch mentally ticked off memories in his

head of the times she’d run his underwear up a flagpole,

hidden dirty diapers beneath his bed—and then there was

the time she’d told half the neighborhood that Mitch slept

with a stuffed bear and liked to dress her Barbie dolls up

as Southern belles. Oh, the list went on and on. And those

were only the harmless pranks. She’d gotten him into real

trouble a couple of times.

Mitch had, of course, retaliated. He’d considered

pounding her into the ground, and if she’d been a boy, and

five years older, that’s exactly what he would have done.

Instead, he’d reacted by treating her exactly in the way he

knew she’d hate most: he ignored her. It drove her nuts.

He smiled at the memory.

“That was a long time ago, though,” Fred said.

“Of course, fifteen years ago,” Mitch conceded. “And

I’m certainly not the type to hold a grudge. But I’m still

going to strangle her.”

Mitch burst through the French doors onto the back

patio, wondering why he’d been surprised at what she’d

done. He should have expected it. After all, her mother

owned a plant nursery in western Virginia, and Kelsey

had always spent more time digging in the dirt than

playing with dolls.

Mitch stopped staring at the changes in his yard and

took a brief moment to enjoy the slight breeze. It was an

utterly gorgeous afternoon. Indian summer had stretched

into the last week of September and everything was golden

and glowing. The aroma of honeysuckle and apples floated

on the wind. For a moment Mitch let go of his anger to

enjoy breathing clean air.

The months he’d spent in China doing research for his

newest book project had been difficult. Much tougher than

he’d expected. The initial thrill he always felt when im-

mersing himself in a culture he planned to study had faded

quickly amid the crowds, congestion and rigid political

policies of the country. In retrospect, the months spent re-

searching his first book, a text on the ancient Mayan civiliza-

tion, now seemed like a cakewalk, though he’d been living

in a small jungle village that didn’t even have a telephone.

Now that he was home, all Mitch wanted was quiet,

solitude and privacy. He was ready to think, ready to absorb

what he’d learned, and begin putting his thoughts on paper

for the college textbook he was under contract to produce.

Fat chance, he thought. Solitude and quiet were two

words he had never yet been able to associate with Kelsey

Logan, the demon-child. He wondered how Baltimore had

survived her presence.

Feeling a splash of water on his cheek, Mitch noticed he

was standing directly in the path of a sprinkler. He

grimaced, squared his shoulders and went to find Kelsey.

Mitch tiptoed along the stone walk and rounded a

newly planted evergreen. Smothering a curse when he

saw a little ceramic chipmunk, he restrained an impulse to

kick it over the fence. Then he looked to the far corner of

the yard and found her.

She obviously had been working. The pruning shears

lay near some bushes, and a rake lay sprawled, spines up,

across the lawn, just waiting for a Three Stooges-like

accident to occur. Kelsey lay in a lounge chair with her

back to him and he walked softly, being extremely careful

to avoid potential mishaps with gardening tools. His shoes

sank into the soft soil next to a leaking watering can.

Glancing ruefully at the dirty Italian leather, he figured that

was just one more thing to thank Kelsey for.

She didn’t notice him. He was a step or two behind her,

far enough that he cast no shadow over her face to warn

her of his presence.

Then he stopped dead in his tracks. This curvaceous, vo-

luptuous even, woman in the lounge chair could not be

Kelsey! He’d made a mistake. Kelsey was the skinny, ob-

noxious, freckle-faced younger sister of his best friend. So

he hadn’t seen her in several years. She couldn’t have

changed this much, could she?

She wore a devil-red bikini, which was damp with the

sweat of her exertions and clung to her skin. Her legs were

slightly bent and raised, a golden honey color, slender and

about a mile long. His gaze slid up, taking in the gently

flared hips and small waist, then on to the trim midriff and

the deep vee of cleavage revealed by the low-cut bathing

suit, and up to the top of her sun-streaked hair.

He stared as she reached a slim arm over the side of the

chair and felt around until her hand brushed against her

cool water glass. She caressed the side of it, her fingers

becoming damp and slick with the condensation, and she

smoothed a little of the water over her fingertips. Then she

reached into the glass to fish out a piece of ice, shook it

gently and brought it toward her chest.

He swallowed hard. The woman—Kelsey?—moved the

ice just above her flesh, and Mitch watched each drop of

water as it fell in a trail along her collarbone. When she

finally lowered the ice to the hollow of her throat, he

released the breath he’d been holding. Then he slowly

drew in another as she moved the cube down her skin,

allowing it to melt on her chest. He heard her small moan

of contentment at the cool relief and very nearly echoed it.

The ice disappeared quickly until her fingers were moving

over her neck and shoulders with nothing but the tiniest

sliver, and then just a few drops of water. Her hand

remained motionless for a few moments, lightly resting on

her throat, and he thought she’d perhaps fallen asleep. He

considered backing up and retreating into the house, but

she shifted slightly, and he remained still.

No. No, this couldn’t be Kelsey.

The last time he’d seen her had been at her high school

graduation, seven years ago, back home in Virginia. She’d

looked skinny and gawky and uncomfortable in the

flowery dress her mother had made her wear under her

graduation gown. They hadn’t exchanged more than a

dozen words that day, as Mitch had spent most of the time

catching up with his buddy Nathan. She’d just been…

there…little Kelsey the pest. When had she become little

Kelsey the temptress? And where the hell had he been

during her amazing transformation?

When she reached toward the glass, ostensibly for

another piece, Mitch cleared his throat. He was not about

to watch a repeat performance of what had undoubtedly

been the most unconsciously seductive moment he’d ever


“IT’S ABOUT TIME YOU SHOWED UP, Fred,” Kelsey said, not

turning around to greet her upstairs neighbor. She felt too

warm and lethargic to even open her eyes. She’d been

working all morning, wanting everything perfect before

Mitch returned home the next day. She suspected he

wouldn’t be too happy about the work she’d done, but it

was too late to worry about it now.

The warmth of the sun felt relaxing, not vicious as it

could be in mid-July, but hazy and soothing, the way only

an Indian summer sun in the mid-Atlantic states can feel.

A light breeze blew across her body, and where the ice had

touched her skin, it brought delicious coolness. She could

lounge like this all day. But it appeared Fred had finally

come to help out.

“I’d just about finished without you—you said you’d be

down by ten. Are you still going to help me get this place

cleaned up?”

Kelsey sat up and stretched a little. Arching her back,

she moved her head from side to side to work the kinks

out of her neck. If she didn’t get back to work now she

might never be able to. Her shoulders already felt achy.

“I’m going to pay for this tonight,” she said, not even

turning to face him. “My arms are killing me from lugging

the wheelbarrow around.”

Fred didn’t say anything, which wasn’t surprising. The

man was incredibly shy. Until his girlfriend, Celia, had

become friendly with Kelsey, he hadn’t spoken much more

than a half-dozen words to her. After that, he’d come out of

his shell and the three of them had become the best of friends.

“Let me,” he murmured very quietly. She didn’t know

what he meant until he moved behind her chair and put

his hands on her shoulders. Kelsey scooted forward on the

lounge chair, dropping her chin to her chest so he could rub

the back of her neck. He worked expertly on her tight

muscles, and she instantly felt better. Kelsey was a little

surprised. His hands felt rougher and stronger than she’d

expect from someone who spent ten hours a day in a lab.

He also pressed and stroked with complete confidence, not

typical for a guy who seemed so shy around women.

“Wow,” she said with a lazy drawl, “I think you have a

future as a masseur.”

He still didn’t say anything. She didn’t mind. Fred was

sturdy and dependable, a little too serious, but a great

neighbor. He minded his own business and yet always let

her know she could call on him if needed. She hoped

Mitch’s return tomorrow wouldn’t upset the peaceful

balance they’d created in the brownstone.

Meet the Author


Leslie Kelly has written dozens of books and novellas for Harlequin Blaze, Temptation and HQN. Known for her sparkling dialogue, fun characters and depth of emotion, her books have been honored with numerous awards.  Leslie lives in Maryland with her own romantic hero, Bruce, and their three daughters. Visit her online at

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